Page 32 of Tears of Ink

Al has his eyes open now; a distant gaze is settled on my face. The skin around his eyes is sunken, and he looks out at me from dark hollows. “They must have seen your work to know it would fit in with their plans.”

I shrug. “I don’t know where. Most of it is covered in dust in my studio.”

His fingers grab mine. “You know the degree and your escape to London will all be for nothing if you never share the things you make.”

“But I’m not qualified to teach.”

“Was I qualified to teach you? The first time you brushed the pens over Dan’s skin, were you qualified?”

“Well, no, but you were watching me like a hawk.”

“Rubbish. You just did it.”

“It’s different.”

“How? Just show these kids what it’s like to create. That’s all they need; to see if the fire to create is within them and if it is, to set it free.”

I watch him for a moment before chuckling. “You are such a poetic old man.”

He chuckles but soon starts coughing and wheezing.

“Has Dad been to see you?” The question tastes bitter.

He stops coughing. “Yes.” There’s a pause that speaks louder than any words. “I will never forgive him for what he did.”

His eyes shut, and I know I’ve exhausted him with my talk of stately homes and luxurious conservatories. I lean over and kiss his dry cheek.

“I’ll be back,” I whisper. Don’t cry, Faith. Don’t let him know this could be it.

It’s hard though. I can’t walk away.

Dan opens the door and a loud sob rumbles from my chest. I fall into his arms, wetting the stretch of his shirt with my tears. His hand palms my hair, and I breathe in the scent of his soap and wax.

“It’s okay.”

I look into his face. I must look hideous, but I don’t care. “Nothing is okay.”

His lips brush a kiss on the tip of my nose, and for the billionth time I wish I wasn’t so fucked up, so I could take what was offered right in front of me.

I never will.

But in that moment of untangling myself from his arms I decide my own future.

It’s time to move on. Time to get away from people who hurt me. The summer will give me space to breathe.

“Call me.” I rush my words and then I run down the stairs so fast I almost slip on the carpet.

Abi and I walk to the station in silence and hug goodbye.

Then I’m on the train. Breathing, crying, mourning my friend who’s being stolen from me.

I grab my phone and look at it for the first time all day.

Gerard Steers: Faith, talk to me, what did you decide?

I’ll tell you what I decided you cheating bastard.

Faith Hitchin: I’m not finishing my degree. Do not contact me again.